In sixteen days, she would board a ship—Asher’s ship—and sail for Boston.Not for home—which was one of the many insights to befall her in the past ten days.Another was that when a woman loved a man, intimacy between them could come in many forms. With Asher, all closeness had a sensual thread, though not necessarily erotic. He could touch her with his gaze; he could read her with his body. Even silences across a breakfast table crowded with family could be comforting and speak volumes.When that breakfast was concluded and Asher had asked her to meet him prepared to go on an outing, Hannah was all too happy to oblige.“Where are we going, Asher?”He winged his arm, she curled closer than courtesy required, and they took off across the wide streets of the New Town. “It’s a surprise, but I thought we’d wander toward the harbor and stop for some rum buns.”Lovely idea. Lovely day. Lovely man. These few weeks of pleasure were the first superficial, glancing cut of heartbreak, the surprise and instinctive stilling of any response in anticipation of the burn and burden to follow.She and Asher could remain in this benign state for a few more days, or Hannah could give in to the growing compulsion to hold nothing back, to move closer to the pain that awaited them both.She walked along beside Asher for several blocks until he spoke again.
